


Discipline By Another Name Might Be Devotion

by JacquiHex



Series: Welcome To The Hotel California [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Drinking, Face-Fucking, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Polyamory, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sexting, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacquiHex/pseuds/JacquiHex
Summary: Shane accidentally walked in on Adam and Andrew getting Extremely Acquainted over the weekend, and it’s been ruining his life ever since.





	Discipline By Another Name Might Be Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t think I was going to participate in fandom events, and now here I am with an offering for Shane Week. To be fair, I didn’t think I was going to be contributing fic to this fandom either, and look where that got me.
> 
> I think it’s worth mentioning that this fic is pretty, uh, gratuitously horny. Extra liberties have been taken here in the name of spicy sex. Maybe some things are said that would normally be out of character, but you know what, it’s very sexy of them and I admire that. We’ve all done weird things when tryin' to fuck.
> 
> Before we get started, y’all: if you’re reading this and you are one of the people in this story, or you know them personally, here’s my official advice to strongly consider reading something different. Love yourself and don’t read on, or at least do so at your own risk? I’m not your dad, though, it’s a free country, you’re an adult, the tags are up there, etc. etc.

It’s Friday morning, making it almost a full week now since Shane’s well and truly lost all control of both his mind and his dick.

He likes to think he’s a reasonable dude! It’s basically his entire persona on _Unsolved,_ after all, and that persona didn’t come out of thin air, so he can’t for the life of him figure out why it’s all crumbling now—just because he had to catch two of his coworkers engaging in some perfectly normal extracurricular necking at a casual get-together last Saturday.

What Adam and Andrew get up to while off the clock is really none of Shane’s business. He’s definitely not _judging._ If you ask him, they look great together, in fact. Like, super great. He’s secure enough with his identity to admit that seeing, say, Andrew’s jeans wrinkle just under his ass as he rhythmically presses against Adam’s thigh, the soft whine that escapes Adam’s teeth as he drags them around the shell of Andrew’s ear and tangles his fingers in Andrew’s hair, is aesthetically impressive to say the least. So good for them, having a great time and looking great while doing it. Shane only wishes he hadn’t accidentally interrupted their private moment out on the apartment’s balcony. For their sake, mostly.

Though he has to admit it hadn’t looked like anything had actually been interrupted. They had continued on in front of him, completely undeterred, while he’d stumbled over a hasty apology and walked right back into the apartment, leaving them to enjoy themselves in peace. Shane had plopped himself down next to Ryan at the dining room table, trying for familiar ground, feeling far more flustered than Andrew and Adam looked when they eventually returned to the group with matching smiles. He’d stayed flustered all night, never realizing he was staring until Adam caught him in the act each time. TJ had given him a solid eye roll when the two had left the party together, Shane swallowing a gulp of water wrong and spluttering, red-faced, trying not to think about where they were headed—together—or what they’d get up to. _Together._

And it’s ridiculous, but that pattern has held all week since. Sunday he’d sort of forgotten about it while he nursed his hangover and resolutely did nothing all day. But Monday morning, he’d gotten one look at Adam working at his desk and shifting as if slightly uncomfortable in his chair, and that was the end of his dignity. Shane has been unable to focus on anything but thoughts of Saturday night, Adam’s ass, and related subjects from that point on.

What’s embarrassing to Shane is that it’s not a simple matter of _‘whoops, saw my work friends getting very sexy with each other and I’m feeling awkward about that!’_ That’s not embarrassing, that’s understandable. It’s been more a matter of _‘whoops, saw my work friends getting very sexy with each other and now I can’t unsee it and it’s distracting me at inopportune times such as during filming and in meetings and at night when I’m alone and inexplicably fixated on not just what I saw but what else may have happened that I didn’t see.’_

By Wednesday, Shane can’t even meet Andrew’s or Adam’s eyes, because if he does, it’ll show on his face that the night before he’d been thinking about them, a hand wrapped around his dick and their imagined weight dipping the mattress on either side of him. They’ll take one look at him and _know._

The worst part, the part that Shane is trying and failing to pretend he’d never seen, was in the moment that night just before he’d turned tail and fled. Adam’s dark eyelashes had fluttered open and he had looked right at Shane, expression unchanging, noises unfaltering. That look on Adam’s face would be plaguing Shane still if he were admitting that it’d been there to begin with. Maybe it hadn’t! People misread other people all the time. Shane’s probably projecting his own feelings onto the memory. Not that he has feelings either way on the matter.

At least, not outside of the point each night when an errant feeling or two hits him out of nowhere in the middle of jerking off and ends everything prematurely. That hardly counts, though.

So now it’s Friday morning. Shane has spent all week feeling flustered while Adam and Andrew seem totally unbothered. Calling it ‘flustered’ is being pretty generous. It makes it sound like he blushes and fumbles for his words when one of them says hello or asks him a question, not… Not whatever _this_ is that’s causing his dick to stage a mutiny and take control of his brain.

Shane’s over thirty. He’s pretty sure that when you’re over thirty you stop being horny all the damn time, and yet. Last Saturday something _happened_ and now his train of thought is constantly switching tracks from work-related things to thirst-related things and he is _not_ the conductor anymore. So he sits at his desk that is far too close to Adam and Andrew’s desks and he doesn’t stop thinking about them, now that he knows that they’re boning and probably looking fantastic while doing it.

He reminds himself: consenting adults, off the clock, none of his business. He’s seen friends be affectionate before. He tries to keep still and sneak a glance or two in their direction, as if today will be the day he figures out why it matters so much. They’re just getting things done, like normal people. If Andrew looks a little annoyed and Adam a little distracted, that’s reasonable for the end of the week. They deal with it by catching each other’s eye every so often, and now that Shane knows what to look for, the private grin on Andrew’s face makes something flutter in his chest, and Adam’s answering gaze of intent hits him in the gut.

Shane guesses, then, it’s got to be the charged tension between them that he’s so fixated on. And then Andrew’s grin is twitching wider as Shane is caught staring, _again,_ so he responds with that insufferable white person grimace and ducks his burning face so that he can’t see whether Adam’s heated eyes have been turned on him as well. He squirms in his chair—practically a pavlovian response at this point—opens up a spreadsheet, and plots out a video production timeline down to the hour so that he doesn’t get any harder than he already has.

Spoiler: it doesn’t work. Steven pops by their station to chat with his co-hosts, and of course because everyone’s bored it devolves into easy banter. Shane argues with an insufferable person for a living, and it’s never once caused him any work-inappropriate problems. But now he makes the fatal mistake of chiming in to back Ryan up and taunt the boys with a tried and true jab at how _hard_ it must be to enjoy fancy meals for a living. Steven rolls his eyes, but before he can hit them with an equal retort, Adam just smirks at Shane and steps up with a well-delivered comeback about how their inelegance and lack of class would just spoil the food... and Shane, whose _literal job_ is to win arguments by sheer stubbornness, _yields._ He doesn’t just yield—he stutters, chokes on a noise that he hopes to god doesn’t sound as weak as he thinks it does, and squirms again before he can stop himself because he’s fucking hard all over again. He doesn’t get Adam back for that one.

Luckily, Ryan always has Shane’s back whether he realizes it or not, because he’s so preoccupied with defending their honor that he doesn’t notice Shane no longer has any. He carries their end of the feud, and Shane’s able to coast along without speaking too much until they’re all cooled off and back to their own devices.

It’s too late for Shane. Apparently being bested in a fight really does something for him, at least the way Adam just did it, because he’s back in Bonerville. He tries to be subtle as he applies some pressure to his crotch under the guise of digging through his bag underneath his desk, but when he does, he hears a quiet, amused huff from Adam’s direction. Shane wonders if it’s fair to hate himself for the fact that it just makes him harder. He’s the mayor of Bonerville.

Either way, time to bail. He tries to adjust himself as discreetly as he can, picks up his messenger bag and carries it in front of his hips, and stands up to go to the bathroom and maybe just not come back afterward. He makes it two whole steps before he hears his name being called.

“Oh hey, Shane? Can you come here for a second?”

He closes his eyes, begs God for death, and turns to face Andrew, hoping he doesn’t look too sweaty or tense. “What’s up?” he says, very casually. He deserves an Oscar.

“While you’re up, I wanna get your input on something.”

Shane feels like it would be too obvious to refuse, mainly because he’s not thinking clearly enough to use the obvious excuse of needing to pee, so he shrugs and goes over to look at Andrew’s laptop screen with him, feeling sheepish. He stands as close as he can behind the back of Andrew’s chair so that the bulge between his legs isn’t on display to the office.

It turns out to be tedious pre-production planning for an upcoming Tasty video that he and Rie want to include Ryan and Shane in. Okay, fine, that’s a valid excuse, but Andrew’s got question after question about all the inconsequential little details, and once Shane’s finally sure he’s free, he starts in on the small talk. Shane’s ears are crimson and he could swear Andrew’s been making deliberate innuendo this whole time.

“I just like to be on top of things, you know,” he says with a wink, and “There’s no hard and fast rules for this project yet.” He touches Shane’s elbow for emphasis while he uses culinarily applicable words like _moist_ and _spread_ and _satisfying._ He works ‘stiff’ and ‘oral’ into the same sentence. That really shouldn’t be possible to get away with.

“Say, how hungry are you right now?” he asks, looking up at Shane with a pretense of curiosity. It takes all of his strength to grit his teeth and lie, “Not very,” even though he thinks Andrew’s just asking about food.

Adam snorts again from his desk. Shane’s eyes dart to him. He looks cool as a cucumber, typing away and bobbing his head to the beat in his headphones. Shane starts to think he must have imagined it—and then Andrew says something else and whirls around in his chair, the chair that had been shielding him from the rest of the office. He snatches his bag to cover it again. Now he _knows_ he’s being obvious.

Andrew has a suspicious look in his eyes, but he just—apologizes.

“I’m so sorry, dude, I’m keeping you from something urgent, aren’t I?”

“Nah,” Shane insists, voice a little high, but Andrew shoos him.

“You look like you’re in a hurry. I didn’t mean to monopolize your time.”

Shane feels trapped, even though he’s literally being given an out right now. He doesn't _want_ to look like he's in a hurry. He’s gabbing on about why he needs to bail, as if he needs a reason to take a piss, when he feels new eyes on him.

He looks at Adam, who meets his gaze directly. He smirks.

_Adam knows._

Shane finally gets his shit together and excuses himself. He makes the longer trip to the bathroom in the other building and is rewarded when it’s unoccupied. He slams the stall door shut behind himself. A minute later he has his fist shoved in his mouth to muffle his groans as he desperately pumps his leaking cock. To say it’s a relief is an understatement; his whole body thrums with encouraging pleasure as he fucks his hand like a damn teenager. He comes, too quickly, to the curl of Adam's lips, the phantom sensation of Andrew’s fingers curled around his arm.

Once he feels like himself again, shaky and out of breath, he cleans up and gets a good look at himself in the mirror. He looks so ruined, sweaty, and red that he takes an impromptu lunch break and doesn’t get back to his desk for another hour. When he does, just about everyone else is taking lunch at the usual time. For the first time all week, Shane’s able to relax and get back into the groove of being productive. Finally.

The _Worth It_ trio come back from lunch together. Andrew smiles at Shane and apologizes again for keeping him from, quote, ‘whatever emergency he’d had on his hands’. It's smooth, but Shane doesn’t even blush when he grins back and shrugs off his apology.

 

* * *

 

The rest of his day goes great after that. Like a curse has been lifted, he breezes his way through a script and a half and zeroes out his email inbox, which _never_ happens. He’s thinking today might end on a note he can be somewhat proud of when he runs into Steven on the way to the kitchen. Steven perks up and walks Shane there, striking up a conversation.

“I don’t know about you, man, but this week has been exhausting.”

Shane can’t resist tossing his head back and sighing dramatically. “You have _no_ idea.”

“Eh, I think I might.”

"Fair." Shane shrugs one shoulder, stops in front of the sink to rinse out his coffee mug. Steven leans against the counter beside him, arms folded over his chest. He appraises Shane for a moment before he speaks.

“Related: a bunch of us are getting drinks after work, if you’re interested.”

Stupidly, Shane suspects nothing. “Sure,” he says with an easy smile. “That sounds nice, actually.” It’ll be a relief to get his mind off of work—and other things, let’s be real—and relax. Clearly, he’s too wound up for his own good.

Steven is predictable in his reaction, beaming and bouncing a little on his toes. “Yes! That's what I like to hear!”

Shane wipes his mug dry with a paper towel and looks up to agree. He stops when he catches something smug and satisfied in Steven’s face, or he thinks he does, but it’s gone before he can get a better look. He shrugs it off and lets Steven walk him back to the main floor.

 

* * *

 

There’s less than an hour of work left, and the loosening energy of the office is palpable. Andrew is eyeing him the second he strolls into view. Worried he’ll be drawn into another conversation he won't survive, Shane slides into his chair and jams his headphones on as quickly as possible. He immerses himself in sweet, sweet tedium.

It works until he gets a ping from Adam. The conversation is private.

Shane considers. He has no real reason to suspect anything unusual, even if it is odd that no one else has been added to the chat. Adam’s his coworker— _Shane_ is the one with the problem. It’s probably just more questions about the Tasty video, he realizes, left for him to answer at his convenience. It’s too risky to sneak a peek at Adam to gauge his mood, in case he gets caught looking again, so he opens the message out of curiosity. When he sees what it says, he barely chokes back a noise of panicked arousal.

If Andrew’s tone has been inscrutable today, Adam’s is decidedly blunt. Shane feels his neck heat as he reads the steadily incoming messages.

_Hey, buddy._

_Saw you earlier._

_Squirming in your seat like a needy bitch._

_Saw you rub yourself when you thought nobody was looking._

_Saw how hard you were when you got up. Those chinos don’t hide anything, you know._

_I think you wear them on purpose, because you’re hoping someone will notice. Nobody with a dick that big is that careless without good reason._

_I think you’re hoping_ we’ll _notice._

Shane’s breathing is shallow. Since he took care of himself earlier, his refractory period is working in his favor—just barely, but not for lack of trying on his body’s part. His dick still stirs in interest, so he wills himself not to think about it, to pretend everything is normal. He counts to twenty, does mental long division, thinks about his student loans. Adam must not give a fuck, because his messages keep coming in.

_Why are you trying so hard to pretend this isn’t doing anything for you?_

_Who are you trying to hide from? You don’t know this, but you’re easy to read. It’s so obvious that you want to be caught._

_Gonna run off to the bathroom again, Shane?_

_Andrew knew, you know. He knew, and he was doing it on purpose._

Shane wills himself to act, to close the chat window, to leave work early, to do _something._ But being told all this filthy shit at work, their colleagues none the wiser around them, has him paralyzed. And boy, does the filth keep coming.

_We want to make you feel good. You want that?_

_You’ve been obsessed since you saw us together on Saturday. Don’t think we didn’t notice. You’ve been a complete mess around us ever since._

_Andrew bet me 20 bucks you think about it all day and that’s why you can’t get any writing done. I didn’t take that bet cause no shit._

_But I bet him 30 that you think about it when you’re at home._

_Think about our fingers and our mouths and our cocks when you touch yourself in your nice, warm bed._

_Bet you say my name when you come, don’t you, Shane._

_Bet you call out for me and Andrew._

And then, like an angel, Steven appears out of nowhere. Shane notices him in his peripheral, swooping in to say something to Adam. He doesn't have any audio playing at the moment, but their conversation is too muffled through his headphones for him to make out their words anyway. He can tell that Steven’s tone is chipper and casual, but Adam’s posture is tense as if he’s being scolded. Amazingly, Adam nods and shrugs, petulant, and then glances at Andrew.

Right. Shane hasn’t been looking this whole time, but now that he follows Adam’s line of sight, Andrew looks a little… flustered? A bit vexed, too. Shane hadn’t realized Andrew was even part of the conversation. So far, the working theory his detective brain has come up with is something along the lines of _what the everloving fuck is going on?_

The three reach some kind of agreement. Both Andrew and Adam gather up their belongings and shut down their computers. Steven is all ready to go, so they head out as a trio. First, though, Steven stops behind Shane and claps a hand on his shoulder. Shane frantically closes the chat window and pulls his headphones down around his neck, but Steven just grins and says he looks forward to drinks tonight. He gives Shane’s shoulder a little squeeze and lingers a second longer before sauntering away, arms draped comfortably around the shoulders of his boys.

Okay. Fuck. There’s a lot to process here. Shane is reading way too far into this, maybe, but it’s also been a weird fucking week and an even weirder day. He’s roughly one trillion percent sure that he should under no circumstances go out with his coworkers tonight if he ever wants to get over this problematic fixation.

So… he goes out with his coworkers. His dick is running the show now, after all, and he has no say in the matter.

 

* * *

 

Shane’s new plan is to drink enough to chill out but not enough to get wasted. Not even close to wasted. He may be the newly appointed mayor of Bonerville, but he adamantly refuses to venn diagram his horny ass into Wasted County on top of that. The overlap in the center of that graph will _not_ be pretty. Not to mention the fact that Andrew and Adam have come with Steven to the bar, _duh, Shane,_ and they look very different—casual—in the dim lighting. They’re wearing the same clothes they wore to work, but when they’re not under fluorescent office lights they look relaxed and unprofessional. He’s having serious issues exiling them back to the ‘coworker’ category of his brain because of it.

There is one snag in his plan: his dumbass, lovable, enabling crew from _Unsolved_ are at Shane's table. With them, it’s easy to forget every responsible thought he's ever had, so he drinks. He drinks a lot, ‘cause Ryan always has to make it into a damn competition and it's such a delight when he doesn't win. Before he knows it, Shane’s loose and not at all inhibited. The exact opposite of what he’s supposed to be tonight.

 _What could go wrong, though?_ he thinks giddily despite himself, laughing and leaning heavy into Ryan’s space. He’s teaming up with TJ and Mark to be an asshole and piss Ryan off as much as they can. A tragic fool, a complete moron, Shane dares the universe to take him down now.

The universe obliges. Adam and Andrew choose that moment to make his life unbearable again. They’re apparently huge fans of torture— _sexy_ torture—because they’ve found their way to the dance floor, and uh… Hmm. Shane may have been drinking an awful lot this evening, but he’s never felt thirstier than he does right now.

Andrew looks good out there, obviously. When doesn’t he, right? He’s not like, an incredible dancer or anything, but his ass looks divine in those jeans. _(So does his bulge,_ his brain wisely points out. Mmm, he concedes as he throws back another shot. So it does indeed.) His neck and arms are shiny with sweat and his black t-shirt is clinging entirely inappropriately to his shoulders and chest. Some of his hair is starting to stick wetly to his forehead. There’s a flush high on his cheeks and his lips look… fuck, they look gorgeous, pink and glistening, and he keeps _licking them_ and Shane thinks he’s going to die.

Adam just makes everything worse. Adam, unlike Andrew, can dance. Not trained or anything, not professional, but it’s clear he’s put in his thousand hours of sensual undulation to filthy beats on dance floors because he’s mastered it. Shane has never pictured him moving like this, but now that he’s seen it, of course he knows he’s never going to forget the sight. Adam’s got Andrew’s strong hands hooked into the belt loops of his jeans and he’s grinding his whole front against him in an unmistakably sexual way.

Shane, in a moment of clarity, realizes he would like to run over and plant himself right in the middle of that whole situation.

One of Adam’s arms is slung over Andrew’s shoulder, fingers digging into the nape of his neck, his other hand dragging down Andrew’s abs. With smoldering intent, his fingers change direction and push back up and over, cupping one of Andrew’s pecs, brushing the hardening nipple that pokes through the fabric of his shirt. Andrew licks his lips again and his mouth falls open like he’s moaning. Shane isn’t close enough to hear but he’s sure that’s what's happening.

 _I want Adam to grab my tits like that,_ Shane thinks from his spectator's seat way over in Wasted County.

Andrew’s shirt has ridden up from Adam’s ministrations, and look. Obviously Shane has seen Andrew shirtless in a video or two, that’s just—an incidental hazard of working at Buzzfeed, okay—but he’s never considered the dusky trail of hair that runs down from his navel, like _really_ considered it, you know? Drops of sweat trickle down, following the hair beneath his waistband… Shane could do that too, he could chase every drop with his tongue and check if there’s more further down, just to be thorough.

“Welp!” he exclaims aloud, TJ giving him an unimpressed look. Ryan turns to him and frowns in mild confusion. Shane waves it all away. As is his new favorite method of addressing his problems, he decides it’s very important for him to use the restroom right now. Ignoring any questions or comments he doesn't want to address, he knocks back the rest of his rum cocktail and hops out of the booth. He almost kills himself tripping over his own feet to get there, and the bar seems a lot bigger than it did before, but eventually he makes it and it’s empty, he’s _so_ lucky with bathrooms today.

Of course he forgets to lock the door, even though it’s just a single bathroom with no stalls, and the last thing he wants is some rando (or worse, a coworker) to barge in on him jerkin' it after spending ten minutes leering at the _Worth It_ guys from across the room like a creep. He forgets everything, too busy stumbling to the urinal and frantically getting his pants open. The minute he gets his hand on himself, he whimpers, half in relief and half in shame at how often he needs it lately.

Even more shameful is how quickly he comes. He cries out around two of his own fingers buried in his mouth as he shoots his second load today. He shudders out a gasp and tucks himself away, feeling sated for now but knowing if he goes back out there, he might not stay sated for long.

The door bursts open before he can figure out his next move. To his horror (and his spent cock’s absolute delight), Andrew is pushing through it. Shane doesn’t exactly know what’s happening right now, except that his arms are being muscled against his sides and his back is hitting the tile wall very hard. The air that’s knocked from his lungs sounds suspiciously like a hungry sob. There’s something hard digging into his hip, breath like hot steam on his neck, two burning hands touching him in more places than his sluggish mind can keep track of.

Shane’s a head taller than Andrew, so he has a clear view of the door, which is now being shut and locked by another person— _Adam._ Recognition hits him deep in his gut, and also in his dick. Boy, are a lot of things going straight to his dick tonight. He’s _supposed_ to be an old man, worn out after two orgasms in one day, but that seems to keep not being true where these two are concerned.

Adam’s face manifests the same smirk from earlier today and he laughs low. Shane groans because honestly that laugh is _really hot_ but then there’s a warm, wet feeling on his collarbone from Andrew’s mouth and his groan turns into a loud whine. His legs wobble and start to give out.

“W-what,” he gasps, perhaps not intelligently. Adam basically sexted him for like twenty minutes at work today and admitted that both of them have been flirting with him, like, in real life. But it hasn't felt real yet, just an extension of his shameful fantasies, until just this moment. Adam’s voice echoes in the tiny bathroom and irrefutably confirms everything.

“Go ahead, mark him up, Drew,” Adam is saying calmly. Andrew emits a beautiful groan and takes a big ol’ bite into Shane’s shoulder and then _sucks._

Shane feels dizzy. And horny, so horny. He feels like he’d be rock hard again if his body didn’t have literal physical limitations, but he’s certainly on his way there despite them. Andrew is tugging the collar of Shane’s shirt out of his way to leave dark bruises all over his collarbones and neck. Adam has crossed the little bathroom and is pressed snugly up against Andrew’s back. His possessive hands run down Andrew’s sides, dark eyes trained fiercely on Shane’s through his glasses like they had been on Saturday night.

“I told you,” Adam says, catching on to the confusion and disbelief making Shane’s head swim. “You’re a needy guy, Shane. It shows. The way you were watching us out there—you think no one saw you staring at us?” Shane whines, only confirming Adam’s point. “You think we don’t know how bad you want in?”

“Adam,” Andrew complains into Shane’s skin. “C’mon. We know all this shit already. Wanna get my dick wet.”

“Fuck,” Shane whispers. He’s never heard Andrew sound like this. He’s talking like Shane’s not even a person, just a warm hole to fuck. _Christ,_ he likes that idea.

Adam snickers. “I’ve had a lot of practice reading neediness in guys who think they’re very subtle,” he explains to Shane, indicating Andrew. “What do you think about that idea though, needy boy? Want to join us?”

“Wanna fuck your pretty mouth,” Andrew growls. He says it more like a statement than a request. Shane’s sure at this point that it’s no secret to either of them, the way it just persuades him further.

“I…” Shane starts, then breaks off into a moan when Andrew does. He can’t see from this angle, but Andrew’s erection is being pushed repeatedly into his belly with each thrust from Adam, who is grinding into Andrew’s ass and nudging him forward. Shane swallows, his throat dry. “Please,” he breaks.

Andrew growls again, sounding starved. Adam laughs. Shane just drops down out of Andrew’s grip to his knees, looking up at both of their faces as he does. It finally sinks in that they _know—_ they know everything. Somehow, Andrew knows that Shane has a thing for his impatience and his insatiable appetite. Adam knows that Shane’s blood runs hot when he takes that condescending tone with him.

“Thought so,” Adam says approvingly. He comes around to bump his hip against the wall at Shane’s side. Andrew gets the front of his jeans open and juts his hips forward expectantly. His cock is stiff and flushed, wet at the tip. It has a nice curve to the underside that Shane is interested in getting his tongue all over. Andrew places a hand on the top of Shane’s head and gathers up a fistful of hair.

Shane hums and goes limp and agreeable when Andrew tugs, feeling everything get a little fuzzier for reasons beyond the alcohol in his system. It's a familiar sensation. Comfortable. He lets his jaw fall open, then regrets not swallowing first once he realizes how much his mouth has been watering. But he obediently lets Andrew guide him onto his cock; it’s good and thick and makes him feel stuffed full, saliva displaced and drooling out the corners of his mouth. He moans quietly and gazes up at Andrew.

Shane gets louder when he sees him, and the noise earns him a thrust that nudges the back of his tongue. Andrew isn’t even watching—he and Adam are locked in a messy kiss, completely absorbed in each other. Andrew has one hand fisted into the front of Adam’s shirt, wrinkling the hell out of it. Adam is making these _noises_ that, again, Shane could not have conjured with his imagination but which he’ll now be happily unable to forget. He’s humming and grunting into Andrew’s mouth. He has an arm around Andrew’s waist, his nails scritching the inch of skin between Andrew’s shirt and belt. Adam’s free hand is gripping the outline of his own cock through his jeans, squeezing gently.

Shane stares for a moment, enthralled, and whimpers. He wonders if there’s a way he can suck both at once.

(He knows there isn’t. From the looks of it, Adam’s not like—in the range of Shane’s size, or anything, but he’s not small either. And Andrew is girthy, as evidenced by the ache in Shane’s jaw. Fuck, he wants these cocks to ruin him.)

“Want you both to ruin me,” he intends to say, but is reminded when he tries that his mouth is actually super occupied at the moment. Andrew just groans and tears himself free of Adam’s teeth, gets both of his hands into Shane’s hair and starts rocking eagerly into the heat of his mouth. Shane whines happily and tears up a little, but Adam is pulling Andrew’s hips back.

“Easy, Drew. Give it a minute,” he says with a definite note of authority in his voice. It makes Shane miss the heavy weight on his tongue even more. Adam is saying something else, though. To him, actually.

“What?” Shane croaks, his voice cracking slightly. “Sorry, I missed that.”

“Were you trying to say something to us while you were sucking Andrew’s cock, Shane?” Adam repeats. Shane nods hastily.

“I want…” He hesitates, bites his lip. He takes stock of the scene: Adam stroking Andrew slowly but firmly to keep him pacified. Andrew with his eyes shut, swollen lips parted, fucking Adam’s fist in a trancelike rhythm.

“Oh, you guys are so fucking hot,” he breathes. It’s not what he tried to say before, but he can’t think of what that thing was. Anyway, it’s true, so it’s fine. He can’t look away from them. They’re both still fully dressed—Shane imagines himself naked in contrast, just a body for them to use, and without thinking he starts to unbutton his shirt.

Andrew makes a noise of wanting. Shane’s eyes flick back up. Andrew’s attention is on his fingers. Adam is watching him undress, pupils blown wide but looking otherwise indifferent, as if this was expected. Shane shivers and works faster at the last few buttons, wriggling out of the shirt and letting it drop to the floor behind him. His hands flit automatically to the button of his pants, but he hesitates, watching Adam watch him.

Adam’s always a step ahead, it seems, because he says, “Go ahead. Take them off.” He nods down at Shane’s crotch, where he realizes he’s fully hard again. “Andrew’s been dying to see you. He likes ‘em nice and big.”

Andrew’s breath hitches but he hisses, “Shut up, Adam—” and elbows him, glaring. Adam stops stroking Andrew’s cock and squeezes it in warning, staring him down.

Shane is undoing the button and zipper as fast as his uncoordinated hands can manage, frantically tugging his chinos off. He sighs in relief, his erection tenting his boxer briefs now that it’s no longer confined.

Andrew makes a strangled sound. When Shane looks, Andrew’s eyes snap up—guiltily—to meet his. He licks his lips again. His chest heaves with quiet gasps while Adam slowly resumes stroking him. Shane realizes it’s probably a reward for obeying some kind of rule. Fuck, he wants Adam to reward him. He wants to behave.

Once again, Adam knows just how to herd them in the proper direction. “You’re beautiful, Shane,” he murmurs reverently. “You like showing us all that skin of yours?”

“Yes,” Shane answers honestly, fingers twitching atop his thighs. He’s unsure if there’s some kind of repercussion for touching himself but he decides that it’s hotter to restrain, just in case.

Adam notices. He narrows his eyes at Shane, glances at his hands, smirks again. “You want me to make you wait.”

Shane shudders out a breath. “Wasn’t sure…” he trails off.

Adam just crouches down and leans into his space—letting go of Andrew when he does, making the other man exhale in frustration—and smirks wider. “We’re so lucky, Andrew,” he gloats, straight to Shane’s face. Shane’s cock throbs. “He’s so polite. So obedient.”

Adam tips Shane’s chin upward and kisses him gently, surprising him. “We didn’t even have to ask. You like waiting for permission for things, don’t you, honey?”

“I want you to use me,” Shane says truthfully, finally voicing his earlier sentiment. And then, when Adam nods and hums in encouragement, he gazes at Andrew, too. “I want you both to. Want you so bad.”

The fire in Andrew’s eyes goes kind of funny, and he stares down at Shane with wide eyes and an unreadable expression. Adam continues on.

“We know,” he shrugs. He looks up at his partner and clears his throat, which snaps Andrew out of whatever he’s thinking. “How do you want him, Andrew, baby?”

Shane holds his breath and fervently hopes the answer involves both of them buried to the hilt inside of him.

He doesn’t find out just yet, because Andrew doesn’t answer aloud—just gives Adam an imploring look. Adam nods patiently, then turns to Shane.

“Okay, Shane. Here’s the deal. You want this, yeah?”

Whatever ‘this’ is, Shane’s answer is gonna be the same. “Yeah, yes,” he chokes out.

“Then I need you to be patient for a bit. We need to move.” Adam gets back to his feet, gestures at Shane’s clothes on the floor. “I know you just took those off, but put them back on. We need better than a grimy bathroom for this, and we’ve already been in here too long.”

Andrew sighs shakily, probably struggling to wait even more than Shane is, tucking himself back into his jeans. Adam just meets Shane’s gaze, eyes glittering darkly.

“Don’t worry. We only ever do things however they're most worth doing,” he says with a wink. It sounds like a promise.

Shane has never gotten dressed faster in his life.

 

* * *

 

The drunken haze has receded slightly and Shane’s a little more steady on his feet by the time he’s ushered into the door of an apartment. (Adam’s, he assumes, since he’d unlocked the door with his own key.) It’s dark inside, and very quiet. He’s still definitely woozy and just as high-strung, but more nervous than he’d had a chance to be in the bar restroom. He hovers off to the side in the dark, unsure what to do with himself while Adam and Andrew empty their pockets into a dish by the door and kick off their shoes.

Gladly, he doesn’t have to worry about it for long. Andrew looks like he’s going to kill somebody if he doesn’t get attention soon, and Adam’s calm is belied by how firmly he grips Shane’s hand, how briskly he ushers them down the hall and into a bedroom with—Shane blinks—an enormous, lavish California king.

He must look a little stunned, because Adam shrugs while he unfastens the cuffs of his sleeves. “Best investment I’ve ever made,” he says simply.

Shane protests and reaches out when Adam starts to shrug out of his shirt. Adam stops and gives him a curious look. Shane’s face goes warm.

“Keep—keep it on,” he mumbles. “Please.” He wonders if there’s a limit to how hot his face can burn or if he’s about to become the next recorded case of spontaneous human combustion. He supposes at least the bedroom probably won’t burn down. The bed might even survive. It’d be a shame to lose it.

Adam’s face slowly breaks into a wicked grin. Shane is abruptly grabbed from behind and spun around. He looks down at the strong forearms that hold him, runs his hands through the thick, golden hair in awe. Andrew groans and yanks Shane down for a bruising kiss.

He feels dizzy under Andrew’s onslaught of aggression. Adam appears to find it amusing, because he chuckles from behind them. He must also find it hot, because suddenly Shane feels cool hands slip around his waist from behind and stroke down his belly. Adam’s hard against Shane’s ass. He feels surrounded and overwhelmed, Andrew greedily licking into his mouth.

“Please,” he begs when he gets the chance, and then feels like he can’t stop. He comes up for air. “Please, please guys, I need, _hhah,_ I need…”

“Get his pants, Andrew,” Adam says as he reaches up and starts to undo Shane’s shirt all over again. Andrew grunts acknowledgement and gives Shane one last kiss before he pulls back, tugging Shane’s bottom lip between his teeth as he draws away. His cheeks are flushed prettily and he won’t quite meet his eye as he focuses on his task. He gets Shane’s fly undone and pulls his chinos and briefs down at the same time. His tongue darts out to wet his lips; his knuckles brush Shane’s bulge, too firmly to be by accident, and he lets out a shaky breath. Adam laughs again.

“You’re welcome,” Adam chuckles, apparently at Andrew. Shane expects him to snap back, like he might if they were anywhere else, but Andrew just stands back up after tugging Shane’s legs free of his pant legs and buries his reddened face into Shane’s chest, nipping at his skin to keep him distracted.

Still, his unsteady hand sneaks down to Shane’s cock, gropes him. Andrew groans quietly. “It’s so fucking _big,”_ he says. He sounds helpless.

 _Shit,_ Shane realizes. _Adam wasn’t kidding._

Shane’s shirt is being dragged off of his shoulders and then there are deft fingers circling his nipples. Shane jerks and whimpers; he feels silly for it, but he hadn’t realized those were quite so sensitive when touched. It’s possible that the owner of the hands is a factor. Adam goads him on with little hums buried into his shoulder blades while Andrew’s eager hand explores Shane’s length.

“Guys,” Shane begs, voice strangled. Adam doesn’t reply or ask him to elaborate. Andrew is rutting up furtively against Shane’s thigh, grunting into his chest, rough denim scraping over Shane's skin and lips parted over his sternum. “Fuck—I didn’t think—”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Adam preens, smug.

It does, but Shane needs more, soon. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous about what’s on the table here, though, so he sags and huffs out his frustration. “Please,” he whines, wishing he had access to his full vocabulary right now. “Please?”

Adam’s arms leave him, which Shane hates, but he turns him around and shoves him firmly down onto the bed, which Shane hates less. He pants as he looks between Adam, who looks devilish, and Andrew, who is wild-eyed and disgruntled that Shane has been taken away from him. Both look almost painfully hard, which Shane hates to admit makes his mouth water again in anticipation.

Adam reaches out, gathers precome from the tip of Shane’s cock, and starts to stroke him at a leisurely pace. “That’s not very specific, but to be honest, Steven had some idea of what you might want from us tonight. And after seeing how hungry you were for Andrew’s cock back at the bar, I think I agree with him.”

Shane is suddenly very confused. Something is nagging at the back of his mind—he thinks it’s his detective brain with an idea, but he can’t be sure. “Why?” he asks, which maybe doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but he has so many questions after those two sentences that even a general ‘why?’ might as well be one of them.

Adam doesn’t appear to care whether or not Shane knows what the hell he’s talking about, or why Steven has any ideas about Shane and dicks. He redirects Shane’s focus with one long stroke, squeezing toward the head until clear fluid beads up at the tip, and nods toward the side table.

“Andrew, lube,” he instructs, and raises an eyebrow in inquiry at Shane. _Yes,_ Shane answers with an enthusiastic nod, voice failing him.

“I think you want us filling you up from both ends,” Adam continues. Shane shudders and twitches in Adam’s hand, which really says all that needs to be said. “Hands and knees then, babe,” he says, letting go.

Shane scrambles to comply. Andrew returns to the bed, fiddling with a bottle in his hands and looking uncertainly between Shane and Adam. “Do we want him to prep himself?” he asks.

Shane keeps quiet, too nervous to ask for anything specific in case they change their minds about this and decide that he’s too demanding to deal with, or something, but Adam the apparent mind reader decides on an option Shane had been hoping for anyway.

“Actually, I’d like you to do it,” he tells Andrew. Shane doesn’t miss the amusement crinkling up the corners of his eyes. Andrew’s breath hitches like he hadn’t been expecting that. Shane can relate—he’d honestly assumed that if he wasn’t going to stretch himself open for them to watch, Adam would take the reins. But based on Andrew’s body language alone, he can immediately see why Adam made this decision. All of him seems to be vibrating with eagerness, despite his attempts to appear casual.

Andrew nods mutely and crawls behind Shane. Shane sighs when he feels firm hands spread his cheeks apart, cool air hitting the sensitive skin between them. Adam has followed so that they’re both seated behind him, and he’s talking to Andrew quietly.

“You like that?” Adam teases, using a common phrase from Andrew’s own words. Shane is getting less and less surprised every time Andrew bites his tongue. He doesn’t miss the referenced line as one Andrew frequently dishes out on their show, any time he offers a delectable morsel to one of the other boys and watching them intently like _they’re_ actually the delicacy being tasted. Shane’s spine tingles and he knows that same hungry gaze is being directed at him right now.

Then there’s a shuffling and dipping of the mattress behind him, and _fuck_ that is Andrew’s stubble scraping against Shane’s cheeks, Andrew’s tongue and hot breath laving over Shane’s asshole.

Shane cries out in surprise and a fresh wave of desire overcomes him. “A-Andrew,” he gasps, moans as Andrew eats him out like Shane’s his last meal on earth. Adam is murmuring encouragement into Andrew’s ear that Shane can’t quite make out, wouldn’t be able to hear even if he wasn’t making a shitload of noise and begging _Andrew, Andrew, Andrew._

 _“Fuck!”_ he shouts, with feeling, when Andrew’s tongue breaches the tight ring of muscle. Shane rocks back, desperate for more. “Please, Adam, I _need—_ tell him—”

Abruptly, Andrew’s mouth is gone and there’s a sharp smack to his ass, right at the sensitive spot where it meets the top of his thigh. He makes a legitimately embarrassing noise that Adam snickers at, and then Andrew’s rough voice is scolding him. 

“Impatient slut,” he snaps, but it sounds as much like a compliment as it does an insult to Shane's ears. Maybe he’s projecting again. But there’s also the sound of the lube being uncapped, and then a slick finger prodding and sliding into him with surprising ease. Shane lets out a wanton moan, a temporarily placated bitch in heat.

“He was enjoying that,” Adam tuts, though he doesn’t sounded disappointed in the least. “But there’s another point for our theory. You want him to hit you again, but you want something in that tight ass of yours even more.”

At Adam’s words, Andrew adds another finger. “Oh _yes,”_ Shane sobs.

Andrew groans, almost sounding frustrated. “God _damn,_ Shane.”

They’ve maneuvered his brain into some kind of bullshit, slutty, easy mode, because it’s way too soon that Andrew’s got three fingers in his ass and has Shane begging for a fourth. Andrew removes all three instead, and Shane distantly hears him ask Adam for something. Maybe Shane should be listening because to his surprise, Andrew is the one that comes to kneel in front of Shane’s face, wiping his fingers off on a hand towel from the bedside drawer while Adam tears open a condom wrapper behind Shane. Andrew’s looking down with the most intense look Shane’s ever seen him make—and he’s seen him make a lot of those.

“Oh,” Shane breathes, and props himself up enough to undo Andrew’s belt and zipper for him. Andrew doesn’t say anything, maybe mumbles something that sounds like it could be _‘god’_ or _‘yeah’_ as he kneels there and lets Shane do all the work. There’s a wide, blunt intrusion prodding at Shane’s hole, lighting up every nerve in his body, and soon enough Adam and Andrew are sliding easily into him at the same moment. He hums gratefully around Andrew’s cock at the sound of their twin groans of pleasure.

Things get even fuzzier from there in a distantly familiar way, and Shane knows he can’t blame the alcohol at this point. _Subspace,_ he thinks, and lets himself drown in it.

He feels drunk on them. Adam has a firm grip on his waist, nails drawing red lines in his skin, and he’s fucking Shane to a slow beat, each thrust a bruising snap of Adam’s hips that leaves Shane breathless and full. Andrew has lost himself in that gentle rocking rhythm he tends toward. His fingers are tangled in Shane’s hair and he’s muttering half-clear, soft words to himself (though Shane does wonder if they’re really just for Andrew’s benefit alone).

Shane knows he’s been a leaking mess for a while and making a disaster out of the sheets, but he kind of likes himself this way, hopes Adam and Andrew feel the same. He doesn’t believe in possession, but if he did, that’d be how he feels right now: completely inhabited, these two gorgeous boys with him underneath his skin. Adam, for all his dismissive talk, is an attentive lover and a perfectionist, taking note of how Shane responds to every little thing and fine tuning his movements as he goes. He learns to scratch more, leave Shane’s back spiderwebbed red and pink, and to angle his hips just right every few thrusts, hitting Shane’s prostate again and again until he’s trembling at the edge of release before backing off until he comes back down.

And Andrew… Whatever he isn’t saying aloud, his body tells for him. Shane thinks he keeps catching himself and trying to withdraw, but there are little clues: a gentle thumb brushing Shane’s brow and temple, an arrhythmic breath when Shane’s eyelids flutter open and their eyes meet. His cock is fever hot under the velvety skin and thrumming with life against the breadth of Shane’s tongue; Shane can’t help tilting his head back and relaxing his throat. He’s rewarded with the most beautiful groan and Andrew fucking him deeper, but no more roughly.

Shane then realizes that Andrew’s not just taking his time, that his careful pace is precisely what he needs, when he suddenly grits his teeth and hisses a split second warning. Shane just hums consent and sinks down until his nose is buried in the golden curls at Andrew’s base, glugging wetly around the pulsing shaft in his throat. He can feel Andrew twitching and throbbing as he comes.

“Fuck, shit,” Andrew gasps, still hushed. “Oh—Shane, _fuck—_ nnnh…”

His voice breaks apart and falls silent at the end of his orgasm, stopping up the flow of words before any more can trickle past his lips. Shane feels bereft, and not just of the physical presence of Andrew that’s no longer in his mouth. He would have liked him to keep talking. It was nice.

Shane goes to speak, and it comes out as a breathy rasp. Lost for words but overcome with adoration, he gazes up at Andrew. His eyes are watering and his throat aches wonderfully. Andrew visibly shudders as he looks back.

“You’re incredible,” Shane eventually manages to articulate. He means both of them, but he wants Andrew to hear it right now. Andrew’s softening dick gives a little twitch but he stays silent. Adam, who has draped himself over Shane’s back, rumbles with fond laughter. Shane sighs happily with how it reverberates through his chest, arches back to get as much of Adam in and around him as he can.

“Careful talking like that around him,” Adam murmurs to Shane, and Andrew turns beet red.

“Adam,” he hisses in warning, jaw tight.

Shane keeps gazing up at Andrew. He doesn’t know what he could possibly have to feel self-conscious about, after all that. His brain isn’t firing on all cylinders at the moment. “I mean it, though,” he insists. This is something he wants Andrew to _know._

Adam just huffs in amusement and then grunts as he hoists Shane’s loose body upright in his lap. Shane’s faintly impressed by Adam’s ability to hold him in place as he fucks up into him. He feels the bristly hair of Adam’s beard scratch his jaw and Adam’s warm voice in his ear.

“If you put on a good enough show for us, maybe we’ll treat you to whatever you want to make you come. Ready?”

And that’s all the warning Shane gets before he’s being pounded into with reckless abandon. He lets go, throws his head back into the crook of Adam’s neck and moans over and over as he wills his shaky legs to help. He tries to ride Adam like his life depends on it: both of them panting, Adam growling and nipping at his jaw and earlobe. Shane lifts his arms up over his head and reaches back to run his fingers through Adam’s curly hair. The entire time, he tries to keep his heavy-lidded eyes trained on Andrew.

He lets himself be watched as Adam starts up a stream of commentary directed at both of them. Andrew’s stare roams freely over the long stretches of Shane’s skin, admiring the tension in his thighs, his cock bouncing wetly against his stomach, the stretch of muscle over his heaving ribs. Andrew’s wrist jerks, and he looks at Shane’s face to see if he’d noticed, eyes tense. Shane bites his lip and nods— _come on_ —until Andrew finally shuffles forward and enters his space again. Andrew’s hand coats Shane with his own slick and curls into a snug fist for him to fuck, and Shane starts to come back into his body as the muscles in his gut start to draw together and tighten.

“That’s it, just like that,” Adam murmurs, drawing a mewl from Shane. “Is this what you’ve been thinking about, Shane?”

“Mm-hmm,” Shane whines. Andrew lets out a whoosh of air, sounding awed.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Adam continues. His voice strains as he fucks into Shane with increased fervor. “It’s— _ah_ —what I’ve been thinking about, too.”

That’s what does it for Shane. He sinks down hard onto Adam’s cock, pictures _him_ whispering _‘Shane’_ into the empty air. He hurtles over the edge of orgasm more violently than he has in a long time, one of his hands flying to the back of Andrew’s neck as his hips jerk quick and needy up into his fist.

“Fuck, Adam, Andrew,” he sobs. Andrew moans softly like he’s wired directly to the nerves in Shane’s skin. It’s enough for Adam to swear sharply and come too, gripping Shane’s sides and holding him down in his lap. He spurts into the condom, into Shane like Andrew had a few minutes ago. He thinks his detective brain is finally starting to piece together why he’s been so fixated.

They crowd together for several moments, three sets of breathing slowly converging and mellowing out into even rhythms. Shane keeps his spine pressed along Adam’s front while he clings to Andrew’s shoulders, wondering if he can get away with keeping both of them touching him indefinitely. Eventually it’s Andrew who gets out of bed, pressing an apologetic kiss to Shane’s fingertips, to grab damp washcloths for the three of them. Adam takes it upon himself to disentangle his body from Shane’s and spread him out on a drier area of bedspread.

Shane isn’t ready for words just yet, so he squeezes one of Adam’s hands tight and hopes it says what he needs. Adam smiles and strokes his knuckles, sits at his side. _I’m here. Take your time._

Shane takes his time.

 

* * *

 

“So I stand by what I said earlier,” Adam murmurs. “You’re pretty easy to read, but I still want to hear it from you.”

They’re not quite clean, exactly, but they have wiped themselves free of most of the sweat and otherwise. Adam and Andrew have stripped down out of their sweaty clothes. There’s enough dry space left on the bed for all three of them to lie curled into each other.

Shane laughs under his breath. “Saying it was good feels like an understatement,” he mutters. “I meant it. You were both—wonderful.”

Adam’s body drains of tension that Shane hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. It pains him at the same time as it makes him breathe a sigh of relief.

Andrew, however, is quiet where he reclines against the pillows and the wall, calf supporting Shane’s head. He’s being cagey, but Shane is optimistic about the way Andrew’s fingers are fiddling gently with strands of Shane’s hair. He pretends not to notice in case Andrew decides to stop.

“So,” Shane says eventually. Carefully. “I think we can all agree that you were right. About me being obsessed, with. You guys.” He doesn’t mention Steven, yet. He’s gathered that he had some part in orchestrating this, but he’s growing attached to keeping the mystery alive for a little longer.

He looks up at Adam, who quirks an eyebrow. There’s something unusually vulnerable in his eye when he clears his throat and hazards, “And how’s that going for you now? Have we satisfied your curiosity?”

Shane’s heart swells, and he grins, aiming for sly over incriminatingly fond. “I think I have a few more questions,” he admits.

Andrew sighs so quietly that Shane almost doesn’t catch it. Adam beams down at Shane, confident and mischievous.

“Well, we did have a few more theories.”

**Author's Note:**

> ayyyyyy [fervidusships](https://fervidusships.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you want, though it’s not exclusively buzzfeed.
> 
> I’m very unfortunately considering making this a series so please kick my ass and send me to kinkshame jail. dont even THINK about letting me pass go


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